The Blink Effect
by SimplySupreme
Summary: Lucy was once just a cook, but a fall down a mountain changed her life when she absorbed a power that she couldn't begin to understand, and her entire world was lost to her. This is the story of how she learned to be a hero even when her only talent was running away. After all, anyone can stand and fight. Learning how to stay human and to help others stay the same is a lot harder.
1. The Girl who Fell from the Mountain

**A/N: Yeah, I know, I'm starting yet _another_ story without finishing the others first. Shame on me. But my muse took hold of me and wouldn't let me go until I started on this!**

 **See, here's the thing. I've read _so_ many original character/self-insert stories for this particular genre, and I've even liked quite a few of them. However, I really want to do one _right_. One with a plot that makes sense and a realistic look at personality, while being entertaining at the same time. So, this is my attempt for this personal challenge. Lucy is more of an OC than a SI, but I made a point of writing her in the SI style. This story starts just before Thor/Hulk/Iron Man 2, and will continue on for as long as I feel like it. The action doesn't really start until the Avengers though, and should remain fairly true to the storyline. Pairings are as of yet undecided, and I'm more than willing to take any requests into account on the final decision.**

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The Blink Effect: Chapter One  
The Girl Who Fell from the Mountain

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I felt nervous as I politely rapped at the trailer's door. Well, nervous might be a bit of an understatement. Frankly, I was terrified out of my mind, halfway praying that I was insane and halfway praying for the exact opposite. Either way, answers were to be had behind this door- ones I'd wanted for so very long now.

Have you ever been Unmade? It's not the same as dying, though I imagine it's what dying feels like. Humans exist in a state of matter, and when that's gone… well, there's not much of us left, is there? When I was a teenager, I used to have these dreams where I'd be minding my own damn business in a public place, and all of a sudden, I'd look down and realize that I was actually completely naked the whole time. Being Unmade feels like that, because everything that you are is just stripped away to nothing until you _are_ nothing. At least, until you are Remade again.

And just so we're clear: all of this? It fucking hurts. More than breaking an ankle. Or stepping on a lego. My first experience with a wormhole was by no means a pleasant one, even if it _did_ save my life.

Wormhole. Also known as an Einstein-Rosen Bridge. A hypothetical topological feature that would fundamentally be a shortcut connecting two separate points in spacetime that could connect extremely far distances such as a billion light years or more; short distances, such as a few feet; different universes; and in theory, different points in time. Essentially a tunnel with two ends, each at a different point in spacetime.

The key word in this definition being 'hypothetical'. Wormholes are pure mathematical theory, and haven't been proven to exist.

I didn't used to know anything about wormholes. All I had was a vague impression from a late-night Star Trek episode. After all, how useful could information on something I'd never witness possibly be? I was just a cook, then. Wormholes had nothing to do with catering. But then… things changed, and… well, here I am. Qualitative observations?

For one, wormholes are blue. A bright, shimmery, sky blue. They shine brightly along the outside edges in a sort of odd corona that separates real space and the hole in that space, and go transparent in the middle, where you can see out the other side. (That's because wormholes fold space over on itself like a piece of notebook paper and then punch a hole through the bits that are touching. And it's weird. Like… _really_ weird. Because wormholes really shouldn't _be_ , and it's mildly distressing to the senses when they decide to disregard that opinion.) For another, stepping through a wormhole that begins in one dimension and ends in another is completely and utterly agonizing.

This was, of course, my first wormhole.

My personal theory on the difference between the experience of my first wormhole and that of the infinitely many (and significantly less painful) ones to follow -the difference in sensation between a wormhole between two dimensions and a wormhole within a single dimension- is that it is due not to a greater distance being traveled (and distance is defined as the amount of space between two points, and wormholes just fold the space away so there's no distance between the start and end at all) but instead to simple incompatibility. People are made of matter. A physical, measurable, tangible substance that occupies space. It cannot, however, occupy the non-native space of another dimension. Hence, when traveling between dimensions, the traveler is Unmade of their native dimension's matter and Remade of their destination's.

Or something like that, at least. It's not like have any sort of evidence supporting this. Don't ask me how such a process is survivable. It probably wouldn't be, to anyone else. I'm just special that way.

But that was why I was here, three months after my arrival in this world, knocking on this particular door and feeling for all the world like a lost child running to anyone that even remotely resembled her mother. I _was_ lost: an entire dimension removed from my home. And besides myself, there's no one alive on this particular version of Earth that knew wormholes better than Dr. Jane Foster. I needed her. What exactly for, I couldn't really say, but if anyone could make sense of my life right now, it would be Foster.

Quite suddenly, the door was thrown open, narrowly missing hitting my in the face. (I swear the edge passed within an inch of my nose.) Startled, I blinked up at the young brunette standing in the doorway, openly appraising me. I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly quite conscious of the fact that I was dressed only casually in jeans and a red cotton blouse with a pair of ratty converse. A small duffle bag containing all of my worldly possessions was slung over one shoulder. Doubtlessly, I looked like some sort of bum; especially considering that no car was in sight. I hadn't taken one to get here.

"Can I help you?" the brunette girl asked, popping her gum.

Smiling tremulously, I reflexively tightened my grip on my bag before forcing myself to relax. "Hello," I greeted her. "I'm looking for Dr. Foster."

There was a shuffling from within the trailer, and soon yet another woman moved into my line of sight, the newcomer shooing the younger one off to one side. "I'm Dr. Foster," she informed me. "Who are you?"

Nervously, I tugged at a stray lock of my own dark hair. "My name is Luciana Schafer, Dr. Foster. I was told that you're the person I've got to speak to about Einstein-Rosen Bridges?" The end of my statement sort of sounded like a question. It wasn't, really. I was well aware that Foster was the best. But for the first time since arriving here, I was facing an actual fictional character that wasn't _actually_ fictional, and I was a little overwhelmed. I mean, seeing the news articles on Tony Stark being Iron Man was one thing, but Jane was _real_. Undeniably so. It was just my luck to travel to a different dimension and hit the cinematic universe instead of the X-Men comics, my childhood favorites.

But beggars can't be choosers, I guess.

"I am one of the foremost experts in that field, yes Miss Schafer," the little brunette confirmed modestly with a little dip of her head in acknowledgement. God, she looked _exactly_ like Natalie Portman. It was actually a little freaky.

"Right," I muttered. "So, I have a few questions, and I was hoping I could show you what I mean if I could have a few moments of your time." I finished with my best hopeful expression. "It won't take long, honest. It's pretty cool to see, actually." (Yeah. When it wasn't terrifying and/or painful.)

Dr. Foster appeared a bit skeptical, but nodded her agreement, stepping aside for me to come inside.

I winced a little as I thought about the damage my demonstration could do to the inside of her tiny trailer. "Uh, it might be better if you all came outside, actually," I admitted. "More room."

Definitely appearing more curious now, Dr. Foster obeyed and stepped outside, closely followed by the younger brunette and an older man, who shut the trailer door behind him. Darcy Lewis and Dr. Erik Selvig, if I wasn't mistaken. Darcy was bouncing on her toes in excitement, while Dr. Selvig just glowered at me. I was half-expecting him to yell at me to get off his damn lawn. Dr. Foster was the calmest of the three, regarding me measuredly.

I'd better not disappoint then.

I'd been practicing this maneuver for close to three months -ever since I made my second ever wormhole on complete accident, terrified and in pain to a degree I'd only ever experienced once before as a man attacked me in an alley near the shithole motel I'd been staying at for lack of funds. The sudden flash of blue -a wormhole no bigger than the palm of my hand- directly in his face had startled him so badly that I'd been able to land a solid knee to his crotch and get the Hell out of Dodge. From that day forward, I'd spent every waking moment away from my shitty job (It's annoyingly difficult to get a job when you don't legally exist.) working to hone my control of my powers and even taking a few self-defence classes. (Never again would I be helpless.) When I was a kid, the other children and I would play superhero at recess. Everyone got to pick their own name and a power. I named myself Paint, and played as a shapeshifter. Never had I imagined that I'd acquire _actual_ superpowers, much less Blink powers.

It was ironic, in a bitter sort of way. I'd never read much of Blink's story, despite my love for the X-Men. I was much more an X-23 or Emma Frost kind of girl.

Not willing to waste any time, I immediately centered myself with a short inhalation of air and gusted it out of my nose before mentally reaching to the cold-warmth nestled inside of me that I'd been living with ever since the crash, allowing it to flood my body with tingles. I always felt like a live wire when I did this. Neither comfortable nor uncomfortable at the same time. I just… _was._

A flick of my wrist tore a hole in spacetime, shimmering a pale neon blue in the fading sunlight like a bad Stargate parody. Before me, all three members of my audience gasped. I ignored them. Instead, I turned to where the me-sized oval was hovering just to my left and stepped through, only to emerge through an identical doorway that lit up just behind Darcy. I let the portals close then, and upon hearing the sound (a sort of hissing-zipping noise) the trio spun around and simply gaped at me.

I certainly couldn't blame them. They looked exactly how I've felt for quite some time now.

"Look, I know it's weird," I said, tugging at my hair again and twisting it in my fingers. I had a bad habit of rambling when I felt uncomfortable. "But this just… _happened_ and I don't know what to do or what it means. You're the only one I could think of with any chance of figuring this out. I'm not a scientist!" A note of pleading entered my voice as I directed my gaze towards a floored Natalie Po- I mean, Dr. Foster. "I'm in so over my head it's not even funny. I'm just a cook!"

"Who can _teleport_!" Darcy deadpanned.

I shrugged. "I make a mean mushroom risotto too."

This comment, at least, appeared to break through Dr. Selvig's shock. "You… you just _created_ a _wormhole_ ," he sputtered.

Well… maybe the shock was less broken than I'd originally thought.

"I did," I confirmed.

"Oh my God," came Dr. Foster's contribution. (Ditto, lady. Ditto.) She blinked furiously for a moment, as if trying to wake herself up. When she was unsuccessful, the brunette seemed to accept that this was actually happening and peered at me more closely. "How did this happen?" she breathed.

I shifted on my feet, slightly uncomfortable with the subject. "It's… a long story."

Apparently, 'It's a long story,' directly translated to 'Please take me inside and ply me with juice pouches and oreos while I spill my life's story,' in this universe. Who knew?

And more importantly, who the hell drank Capri Sun with _oreos_? It was cringeworthy.

"Well, I guess this all started when my Dad and I decided to take a road trip," I began, once all four of us were crammed around Foster's cluttered table inside her trailer, snacks and beverages doled out accordingly. I fidgeted with my cookie, not quite wanting to eat it. "We were driving through the mountains at night. It was stupid. We hit black ice and spun out. We went right through the guardrail and down the side of the mountain." My hands clenched at the memory, and Darcy let out a distressed sort of noise. I wasn't interrupted, however. "I think I blacked out halfway down. I don't really… remember that part well," I admitted.

 _Metal screeching and glass shattering; rocks pounding against plastic and my mouth tastes like blood as the world spins over and over and over and over… can't breathe I can't breathe just breathe and make it stop just stop..._

Part of me was well aware that I didn't _want_ to remember more than my memory was faulty. My voice wavered as I continued, my eyes clamped shut so I wouldn't have to look at the others' faces while I told this story. "When I woke up, the car was crushed up against a rock formation and Dad was… Dad was gone. I wasn't thinking clearly. I was concussed, had broken a couple of bones, and was bleeding pretty heavily…" My throat convulsed as I swallowed thickly.

 _Don't think Lucy don't think Lucy don't think- he's only sleeping just sleeping he'll be fine just fine wake up Daddy please wake up you can't sleep now Daddy I need you to stop sleeping... just get out get out get out find somewhere safe get out to be safe Lucy be safe there's so much blood..._

"I crawled out of the wreck and managed about two steps before I fell right down into a crack between the rocks. I wasn't in any shape to climb out. I couldn't really even move," I narrated, forcing myself into a more clinical mood and finally opening my eyes. Darcy and Dr. Foster's eyes were swimming, and Dr. Selvig appeared quite grim. "But… then I found a little safe, half-buried in the mud, right next to where I'd fallen. Like the rain had washed it up from being buried. It was rusted almost all the way through it was so old, and it was no trouble to bust open. All that was inside was this…" Pausing as I struggled for the terms to describe my find, I frowned heavily and gestured somewhat uselessly with my hands. "Diamond chip, I guess? About as big as a nickel, maybe. Broken off like a shard. It was… weird though. It glowed blue, like my portals," I explained. It had been so beautiful. Enchanting. I felt wistful thinking about it even now. "It was… it defies description. I picked it up, and it felt so _strange_. Hot and cold all at once. Well, until I bled all over it that is," I said wryly.

 _It burns it burns it burns get rid of it Lucy it's eating me alive and burning why is it burning into me like a tattoo blue fire it burns… get out Lucy get out get out get out leave get away run it hurts please Lucy go…_

Placing my cookie down on the table, I used my right hand to trace a path up from the palm of my left hand up my arm and straight over my heart with my fingertips, where I allowed them to linger and apply light pressure for a moment before dropping again. "Once my blood touched it, it sort of… sank into me. Right here." I tapped my sternum. "Then a portal opened up right underneath me and I fell through, right into the middle of Oregon of all places." I shuddered. "It hurt more than anything I've ever felt, doing that," I admitted. "When I came out the other side, my body was whole again. Yet… here isn't the same as _my_ here. Where I came from wasn't _here_. Things are different. It's almost five years back in time, to me. I don't legally exist at all. I found out I could make my own portals a week or so after I got here, but they aren't the same as that first one. They just take me from place to place. I think I accidentally travelled dimensions," I confessed.

My story was met with silence and some truly impressed deer-in-headlights expressions. I think I broke them.

"You… accidentally traveled dimensions," Dr. Selvig repeated back to me incredulously.

I smirked. "Sounds about right."

"I don't know how much I can help you," Dr. Foster sighed, eyeing me somewhat hungrily. And not even in the fun way. More in the 'I-want-to-dissect-you-and-catalogue-your-organs' kind of way.

I frowned, but I wasn't surprised. After all, I _was_ rather… unusual. "Anything helps," I offered magnanimously.

"Then do the portal thingie again!" Darcy demanded, clearly excited.

Well, far be it from me to deny the desires of a pretty lady. Though I had a feeling I'd be performing my personal party trick for them for a _very_ long time.

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 **A/N: Yes, I know that's not real science. But it's comic science, so it's totally fine! Reviews are very welcome. This project is literally just a personal challenge to try and heal my soul of doing math after classes, so all feedback -good and bad- and requests are appreciated. Next chapter up soon!**


	2. The Girl Who Fell from the Rafters

**A/N: This is where the fun starts guys! Enjoy.**

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The Blink Effect: Chapter Two  
The Girl Who Fell from the Rafters

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I blinked uncomprehendingly at the file placed on the tabletop in front of me. "My codename is Sidestep? _Really_?"

Agent Coulson's facial expression didn't change, which was just a little disappointing. I was still mad at him for upsetting Jane, and besides: any decent human being should be rightfully ashamed of christening a teleporter _Sidestep_. It was so disappointing. On so many levels. This man could at least have to decency to look embarrassed about it.

"For lack of a legal designation, the agent in charge of monitoring your file assigned the codename to you in lieu of Subject 0797," came the neutral response.

Damn. This guy didn't fuck around.

"Did you hit them?" I asked hopefully.

"We do not corporally punish our agents, Miss Schafer."

Double damn. Or perhaps not, considering that I was about to become one. Mostly because I couldn't stand trying to slum it as an illegal resident anymore. (The irony of the stereotype didn't bear mentioning, thank-you-very-much.) SHIELD had promised me an actual identity. And to stop stalking me. I don't know why I was surprised that when the agency had confiscated Jane's work during that whole 'Norse god of thunder falling from the sky' business, I'd also been brought in for questioning since the spies had apparently been aware of my existence and powers for months now.

Geez, just because a girl can open portals doesn't mean she goes around tearing holes between the realms willy-nilly! Regardless of the dimension, I'd only ever been on Midgard. Or Earth. Whatever. Needless to say, I'd been proven quite innocent when Loki decided to send his huge-ass fire-breathing robot to come and wreck shit.

Not that Coulson had apologized at all. Of course, I was doing my best to play dumb and tick him off in the meanwhile just to see his reaction (or lack thereof), so I guess I shouldn't have expected him to actually _like_ me.

I'd stayed with Jane for four months before Thor literally crash landed in our lives. Well, not _with_ Jane, per say. Her trailer was tiny and I was more useless than a trained monkey at physics. (Well, not that I wasn't capable of understanding it, but more that I didn't want to and subsequently made a nuisance of myself until I was banished from the 'lab'.) I stayed in the tiny nearby town instead, in yet another motel. I worked as a bartender most nights. Not exactly the most prestigious use of my culinary degree to be sure, but infinitely better than waitressing.

And also, access to booze. Darcy loved me for it.

Jane hadn't been able to give me many answers, but I did at least understand my powers better now. She'd spent quite a lot of time explaining the mechanics of wormholes to me, as well as suggesting different possible applications to them and helping me practice most of them. (Except for her theory that I could travel through time. I was _not_ about to fuck with that. At all.) I'd even managed to open more than one at a time. (The appearance of one portal being two portals was an illusion, Jane told me. The entrance and exit portals were still the same wormhole, like two sides of the same coin.) My record was three wormholes at once. Creating more than one wormhole at a time really tired me out however. The first time I'd tried, I'd fainted within half a second, completely wrecked. I hadn't managed more than a blue flicker in the air. The exhaustion wasn't something I'd expected. None of us -myself, Jane, Erik, and Darcy included- understood where my powers came from, but they seemed to be somewhat inexhaustible. Increased distance increased the focus I needed to operate the portals, as well as increases in size, but I was never more than mentally exhausted by their use. Unless I used more than one, apparently.

Like a muscle, however, the more I exercised the ability, the stronger I got. I could hold two wormholes for five seconds and three for two, now, so long as I was completely focused and not distracted by Darcy throwing popcorn at my head. The process still tired me extremely quickly.

I was grateful to Jane though. She was a good woman, and an even better friend. She took me in like a lost, superpowered puppy, and treated me like a friend instead of a science experiment. (Well, most of the time.) Even Erik ended up liking me. Darcy liked everyone.

And when Thor happened? It was interesting, to say the least. I knew it was going to happen, of course, but it was still _so_ much cooler in person. I only really saw the man a few times, when I was working at the bar and when there were impromptu gatherings I elbowed in on. Thor was pretty cool. A bit… exuberant for my tastes, but pretty cool. Not to mention absolute eye candy. I envied Jane her god-lovin'. Really, I did.

SHIELD had brought me in when they'd confiscated Jane's stuff. I could have left whenever I'd wanted to, of course, but I was curious. And they knew it, too; or at least Agent Coulson did. I swear the man could read minds. He knew just what to say to keep my attention. In the end, he even offered me a job, which I was currently in the process of accepting, hence the file labeled Sidestep. Apparently, SHIELD had begun monitoring me and my power use two months after my arrival in this dimension. (I'd really freaked my assigned agents out when I'd portaled to New Mexico with little to no warning. It had taken them two days to catch up with me again.) They had no idea who I was, or how I'd gotten my powers, but I could apparently punch holes in reality at will. This made me very, _very_ interesting to SHIELD.

I wasn't sure if I had what it took to be an agent though. Pre-powers, I'd just been a chef. I made food. I didn't shoot guns or spy on people or do whatever it was SHIELD agents did. Unfortunately, I wasn't sure how much of a choice I had in the matter. One does not simply acquire teleportation powers that are a potential security risk to every intelligence agency on the entire planet and summarily turn down a job offer from the most powerful of said intelligence agencies, all of which want a piece of said teleportation powers. It just wasn't a good idea. Someone somewhere would probably send a sniper after me, and I was _so_ not down for that.

I was too young and fabulous to die.

Thus decided, I picked through the file that SHIELD had collected on my person. It was amusingly sparse. I'm certain that the agent assigned to tracking down my history was convinced that I was part of the most thorough witness protection program in existence. Honestly, all they knew was that I had appeared out of nowhere seven months ago and gotten a job as a waitress in a dive, begun to practice teleportation alone in a nearby abandoned warehouse, hadn't committed any crimes, and had summarily moved to New Mexico to work with Jane Foster. The name I'd been using -Luciana Paula Schafer- was listed as an alias. It _was_ my actual name, but SHIELD didn't know that, considering that Luciana Paula Schafer didn't legally exist anywhere on the planet. Hence the oh-so-original codename, Sidestep.

It could be worse.

I shut the file and turned my attention to the contract awaiting my signature. I didn't bother reading it. "This states that you basically own my ass, doesn't it?" I sighed, running a finger over the topmost paper in the stack.

"Not in precisely those words; but essentially, yes," Coulson agreed, his lips twitching ever so slightly.

Frowning, I accepted the pen offered to me and skimmed the document to double check I wasn't actually volunteering to sell my kidney or anything before scribbling out my name at the bottom of a few of the pages. "There you go, one damn fine ass, as requested sir," I bit out, sliding the papers back across the table.

"Thank you, Miss Schafer."

And that was that. Sidestep was now an agent of SHIELD.

I was immediately shipped off to the Triskelion, where over the following weeks I was put through basic training. Now, I've always been a fairly fit person. Not athletic by any means, but healthy and physically capable.

SHIELD training kicked my cocoa-brown ass.

I wasn't allowed to use my powers during PT, which was every morning at 0700 hours. There was only running and jumping and push-ups and pull-ups and crunches and a whole slew of other unpleasant tortures to complete. I hurt _everywhere_. I'm pretty sure that the only thing the other recruits heard me say for the first two weeks was something along the lines of, "Voy a morir, en serio!" Not only that, but I was enlisted in combat class as well. Now, I'd taken a few self-defence classes and knew a bit of krav maga, but _this_ included several forms of hand-to hand -as well as weapons- combat.

I was good at it. Hand-to-hand, at least. I'd always been a scrappy kid, so what was essentially a fist fight wasn't too far out of my comfort zone. Guns were an entirely different animal, and I struggled with them for almost two months before I attained enough skill to be described as a decent shot. I was better with something like a baton or nightstick. I didn't really mind the hard work though. Without a job other than perfecting my skills, I had a lot of time to think on my hands. My thinking never turned out well.

Frankly, I was lonely. I missed Jane and Darcy and Erik. I missed my friends from my old dimension. I missed my Dad. But my friends from New Mexico were far away for now, and those from another dimension even farther. Sometimes, I wondered if I could go back. Go home. Normally, my portals worked through visualization, so I typically had to know at least a little bit about the appearance and location of my intended destination. I could definitely visualize home. Some nights, when I dreamed of the kitchen or the park by my house, I could almost smell the oregano and feel the damp blades of grass pricking my hands. I had no way of knowing if the trans-dimensional portals worked the same way as my other portals however, considering that my concussed memories of my departure weren't all that clear or reliable. So _many_ things could go wrong with such an attempt, and really, what did I have left there? I'd already been gone for months, my Daddy was dead, and I had powers that would -more likely than not- land me in a cage in a lab somewhere. Here, at least, I had a chance to do something important. Even if I didn't really know anyone, and really didn't fit in.

Most days, I honestly didn't try. After PT and combat class and tactics training, I tended to teleport myself to secluded areas on base and catch up on some reading. (I was usually far too tired for much else.) Many times, this meant that I was perched in the rafters of one of the training rooms, or even lounging on various balconies or tucked into nooks in the walls. I spent very little time with my coworkers and fellow recruits, though those times I did were bracketed by my sudden and startling appearances and disappearances. (It was kind of funny to scare the pants off people by suddenly dropping from just above their heads with no warning.) I can't say this behavior made me many friends, but it never really made me any enemies either. Not after I made it clear how I felt about people messing with me, that is. I hadn't had issues with anyone since my second week on the job. The one recruit who thought it would be funny to piss me off by slapping me on the ass quite suddenly found himself being dropped from the sky at approximately ten thousand feet, caught by another portal that then opened up on the gym room floor, launched high up into the air by his own momentum, and caught by yet another portal at the peak of his ascent that deposited him harmlessly back on his feet in the very spot from which he'd disappeared in the first place. He was, by this point, gibbering and shaking incomprehensibly.

" _This_ ass," I hissed out, gesturing at the appendage in question, "belongs to SHIELD: not you. And I'd thank you to keep your hands off of it, bastardo feo! Vete a la mierda!"

No one -not the full agents and _definitely_ not the recruits- really talked to me much outside of business after that. And I was okay with it. I was an agent of SHIELD now, my status of 'freak' (or 'enhanced' for the politically correct) notwithstanding, and my life was inherently a dangerous one. Friends were a liability that I didn't need when I knew very well that SHIELD would collapse beneath the weight of Project Insight just a couple years from now.

The _last_ thing I needed right now was to get attached to someone that could possibly be HYDRA. No, the less SHIELD knew about me the better. To them, I was Sidestep, and that was all they really needed.

The SHIELD scientists had studied me, of course. I honestly don't think I could have stopped them. None of the tests were invasive, however, and most came back inconclusive. In all but one respect, I was a perfectly normal and healthy twenty-six year old woman. The only indication of my more… supernatural nature, was a faint energy signature I gave off at a constant rate.

I wasn't aware of the significance of this fact until the day I met Hawkeye for the first time. As usual, I had retreated into solitude after training. Today, I was lounging in the rafters of the gym used for the hand-to-hand training. After class, it was completely deserted. (None of the recruits wanted to revisit the place where they had just spent the last few hours getting the snot pounded out of them until they figured out how to properly hit back.) I was reading Juvenal's Sixteen Satires and listening to Smooth Criminal by Michael Jackson on my portable speakers. It was very engaging, and I didn't even really notice when two men entered the room below me.

" _...into her apartment. He left the bloodstains on the carpet. She ran underneath the-"_

"Miss Schafer!" a familiar voice called up at me. I jerked and almost dropped my book. No one called me Luciana Schafer anymore. To anyone in SHIELD, I was Sidestep.

" _-table. He could see she was unable. So she ran into the bedroom. She was-"_

Wide-eyed, I looked down only to see Phil 'BAMF' Coulson himself looking up at me, alongside another sandy-haired man that I'd never seen before. Immediately, I smiled more radiantly than the sun. I hadn't seen Coulson for quite a few weeks, and seeing as he was pretty much the only person on the planet besides my New Mexico buddies who treated me as more than an asset, I was downright fucking delighted to see him. "Coulson! What's up boss-man?" I shouted over my music.

" _-struck down. It was her doom. Annie, are you okay? So Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie? Annie are-"_

"I'd like to speak with you, Agent," he requested politely, completely unruffled.

Jesus fucking Christ, I'd missed this man.

" _-okay? So Annie, are you okay? Are you okay Annie?"_

"You got it!" I responded with a sloppy salute before rolling off of the beam and falling face-first towards the ground. Almost immediately, I caught myself with one of my wormholes and burst through the other end somewhat gracelessly, having reoriented myself upright. I skidded to a stop not a foot in front of where Coulson stood calmly waiting for me.

" _Annie, are you okay? Will you tell us that you're okay? There's a sign in the window that he struck-"_

Flippantly, I tossed my book into another small portal and let it close just as quickly as I'd created it. Juvenal would be waiting for me back on my bunk in my tiny militaristic quarters. (I was one of the few recruits to live on the base full time, and while the situation wasn't ideal, I didn't exactly have anywhere else to go.) "'Sup, boss-man?" I asked cheekily. "You're lookin' good. Been working out?"

"Always a pleasure to speak with you, Miss Schafer," came the dry reply. I knew Phil thought I was funny though, even if his expression never changed. I could sense it.

The guy he brought with him did too. He stood a few feet away from us, staring at me as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh at me or just leave the room; with a large amount of bemusement on the side.

" _-you a crescendo, Annie. He came into your apartment. He left the bloodstains on the carpet. Then you ran into the bedroom. You-"_

I decided to ignore him for now. I was too excited to see Coulson.

"You're scheduled to finish training next week," he stated.

I nodded. "I am."

In reply, the man simply extended his hand and offered me an official ID badge. The one that all SHIELD agents carried when they weren't undercover. It had my name and codename on it. I took it with no small amount of awe. "Consider your training completed and yourself a full agent, Agent Schafer," Coulson told me.

" _-were struck down. It was your doom. Annie, are you okay? So Annie, are you okay? Are you-"_

"Your instructors have deemed your performance in all areas of your training satisfactory, and you have a mission."

I blinked, fingers tightening over the leather cover in my hand. "A… mission?" I echoed.

" _-okay, Annie? Annie, are you okay? So Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?"_

Coulson nodded. "I'll be briefing you on the way. You'll be accompanying myself and Agent Barton on this one," he elaborated, gesturing to the man who had accompanied him. "You should get along just fine," he added dryly. "You both like to play in the rafters."

A little shocked, I turned and offered my hand to the man I now knew to be Hawkeye. "It's nice to meet you, Agent Barton," I said with a shy smile. "I'm Luciana Schafer."

" _You've been hit by. You've-"_

Barton gave me an easy smile and shook my hand warmly. I already liked him. "Clint Barton."

" _-been hit by... a smooth criminal."_

* * *

 **A/N: Things will be moving pretty quickly for these first few chapters, as the real plot won't kick in until about chapter four. Expect longer chapters and movie bits then.**


	3. The Girl who Fell from the Space Rock

**A/N: So here's an update. I really haven't gotten all that enthusiastic of a response to this story, which I guess I understand as it's significantly more playful than my usual fare, but I'll wait a few chapters to see if it improves. I probably won't abandon the story entirely, but it's definitely not going to be a priority if no one reads it. Anyways, enjoy chapter three!**

* * *

The Blink Effect: Chapter Three  
The Girl Who Fell from the Space Rock

* * *

On a scale of zero to ovary explosion of the things that turn me on, rocks typically rate a solid 'why the fuck would you even try to think sexually about a rock, you freak?'. Because let's be honest. There's nothing sexy about a rock. Nothing.

Which is why it's so embarrassing to me that the first time I saw the Tesseract, my knees gave out and I tossed my head back and _moaned_ like a porn star. (Taking 'diamonds are a girl's best friend' a little bit too far, don't you think? Though in all fairness, the Tesseract was probably the prettiest rock I'd ever laid eyes on.)

This was my mission. Not really much of a mission if you ask me, but beggars can't be choosers, and if it gets me out of another week of PT, I'm down. All I had to do was go and visit the Tesseract. That's all. That was my one job. Just let the nerds monitor myself and the Infinity Stone to see how we reacted to each other. The scientists who poked at me had discovered that the energy that my body emitted was nearly identical to that of the Tesseract -albeit to a lesser intensity, capable of existing in a human body without destroying it- and wanted to see how we would interact. Easy, right?

Wrong. Because the moment I came within thirty feet of the thing I was overcome with a veritable _flood_ of tingles swirling all around and within me in an infinite loop of pleasure-pain and I've never felt anything so _glorious_ in my life. I felt like I could make a _million_ portals like this.

It's safe to say that all higher brain function was instantly cut off as my limbs turned to jell-o and what was left of me basically melted.

Thankfully, Hawkeye caught me around my waist with one arm (The man was buff as hell from all that archery and it was extremely depressing to know that he already had a girlfriend or wife or whatever.) and immediately began to drag me back out of the room. I'd been twitchy ever since we'd landed at the base, but the farther he pulled me away from the glowing blue cube -the same color as my portals, incidentally- the more clear-headed I felt. Coulson walked beside us, while the scientists all gawped, unmoving. If it was just them in the room with me, I halfway expected that they would have let me come right there on the floor.

Well, all of them except for Erik. Erik was a gentleman. I heard him yelling at his coworkers as I was dragged out.

As it was, it wasn't until Barton had helped me all the way back into the Quinjet that I fully came back to myself, still trembling with excess energy and breathing erratically. I felt like I'd just taken about fifteen shots of five-hour-energy, and I was about ready to crawl out of my own skin. It was… _really_ weird.

" _That_ was the Tesseract?" I finally asked as Barton settled me on an empty seat in the back of the plane, my voice hoarse. I looked at Coulson with confusion. The man was eyeing me with concern. "What the fuck?"

Barton snorted. "What the fuck is right. Your eyes are still glowing."

Reflexively, I blinked. "My eyes are glowing?"

"Your entire body was, actually," Coulson corrected, "but it faded with distance."

Now officially creeped out, I yanked a compact mirror out of my cargo pants and flipped it open, carefully inspecting my face. Sure enough, my eyes were shimmering portal blue as opposed to my typical brown. Okay. Well this experience was a 9.8 on the weird-o-scale. "Carajo," I breathed, before frowning. "What just happened?" I questioned aloud.

"You quite literally got your rocks off?" Barton offered.

I glared at him. "Ha fucking ha, pendejo."

I stayed on that plane for hours, refusing to get any closer to the Tesseract than I had to. I could still feel its energy humming just out of reach, calling to me like I was its long-lost sister. Every part of me wanted to answer that call, but I forced myself to sit still. Infinity stones were not to be fucked with, and it scared me that I had such a strong reaction to the Tesseract. Really scared me. I _so_ didn't need this right now. Or, you know, _ever_.

Eventually, Erik came to visit me. Coulson and Barton had long since left to do whatever it was that they did. They'd promised to bring back dinner for me though.

"Erik!" I greeted happily as I saw who was entering the plane. I'd missed him. "I didn't know you were working for SHIELD too!" Lies. Dirty, dirty lies. But necessary ones.

The man laughed and embraced me warmly. "Neither did I. It certainly was quite a shock to see you this afternoon."

I winced at that. " _Please_ tell me you know what happened," I begged him.

"I have a theory," he admitted.

Relieved, I guided the man to a seat and settled myself across from him. "Lay it on me."

Erik cleared his throat. "Well," he began. "Our sensors went off like Christmas when you entered the room. The Tesseract definitely reacted to your presence. Its energy surged, and so did the energy within yourself, meeting and exchanging with each other. I can only assume from the readings we have on you that exposure to such incredible power affected you physically as well." He looked a bit uncomfortable saying that.

I couldn't really blame him, 'cause damn. I _did_ just have sex with a rock after all.

I was never living this down. Never.

"Never again," I vowed aloud, feeling just a little violated.

Erik laughed, but sobered quickly. "There's something else."

"Sweet Christ, what now?"

"I think…" Erik hesitated. "I think that the object you absorbed before you made your first portal _was_ the Tesseract."

Say _what_ now?

"Or a piece of it anyways," the man continued. "I think that you hold some of the power of the Tesseract of your dimension, which is why you react so strongly to this one."

Immediately, I paled. The Tesseract was an Infinity Stone. The Space stone, if I recalled correctly. Hell, _Loki_ used the thing to open up portals! I wanted to slap myself. Why hadn't I thought of this before?

Right. Because in my world, the Infinity Stones were fictional.

But then again, what I'd found was only a shard. Who knows where it came from? Perhaps there _were_ once Infinity Stones in my reality, but they were shattered long ago. Hell, maybe someone else in a Marvel reality figured out how to absorb a Tesseract shard too, traveled realities, and left a piece of their stone on my planet? It could have been anything, and I'd most likely never know. All I knew was that someone, long ago, had managed to get ahold of a Tesseract shard on a planet where Infinity Stones didn't exist, and buried it halfway up a mountain. I had no way of investigating who or why.

Honestly, it didn't much matter. Whatever it was that I'd absorbed that day had become a part of me just as much as my fingers and toes were. I was what I was and that wasn't about to change.

"Erik," I said very seriously. "Who else have you told that part of your theory to?"

"No one," he assured me in his gruff-but-kind way. "And I'll keep it that way."

Immediately, I relaxed. If that information got into the wrong hands… well, it would be disastrous, to say the least. "Thank you."

Erik grunted his acceptance. "You be careful, Lucy."

"I will," I promised.

It didn't take me long to break that promise. About a week after I'd been flown back to the Triskelion, I was sent on my first _real_ mission. It was pretty easy, actually. With my powers, I was the perfect agent to gather intelligence from high-security areas. Thankfully -unlike my combat skills- my computer skills were actually pretty impressive. Dad had been a software engineer, so between that experience and my SHIELD training, computers were definitely my forte.

My first mission was a cakewalk. Steal the client list from the computer in an international arms dealer's office. I was in and out in twenty minutes on a Tuesday night, and no one was ever the wiser. My handler for the mission, Agent Carthage, was so pleased with me that he bought me a bottle of tequila.

It was the second mission that got a little hairy. This one required for myself and assigned partner, Agent 13 aka Sharon Carter, to go undercover and assassinate a corrupt politician in Panama. I genuinely liked Carter. She and I got along just fine, and she was very good at her job. Unfortunately for us, someone squealed, and Carter was forced to do a messy job of slitting the man's throat before we'd gathered all the necessary intelligence. We'd fled the mansion we'd infiltrated as a pair of call girls dodging bullets from security. Carter got a graze on her upper left arm, but I'd caught the full bullet in my abdomen.

It would have taken us fifteen minutes to reach the extraction point if I hadn't portaled us there. As it was, it was a ten minute plane ride before I reached an actual doctor, despite Carter's basic medical training. I would have taken us to the nearest SHIELD outpost, but I was losing blood very quickly and I was afraid of losing focus and accidentally sending us to Antarctica.

It took quite a while for me to heal up from that little incident, but my third and fourth missions a couple months later went very smoothly. I was actually starting to really enjoy my new career when Loki happened.

I found out that the Tesseract had been stolen when Coulson called me in for my fifth mission. After I'd had the appropriate amount of freak-out at the situation, the man had calmly informed me that I was being sent out on a retrieval mission, and that my temporary partner would pick me up from the Triskelion and brief me on the way. (I hadn't been assigned a permanent partner yet, and I'd worked with a new one with every mission so far.)

That was how I met the Black Widow.

All things considered, it probably wasn't the best of first meetings.

I'm irreverent. For my entire SHIELD career, I have been slowly driving my superiors insane with my complete and utter disregard for acting like a normal human being. I do it because I can. My powers are valuable. _I'm_ valuable, and I knew full well that I could get away with more than a normal agent could. I also think if I didn't find some way to amuse myself I'd go legitimately insane because _how the fuck_ is this my life? So when I was ordered to aircraft hangar twelve, I obviously didn't walk like a normal person. Instead, I jumped off a balcony and shot up from the hangar floor, only to be greeted by the barrel of a gun directed point blank at my face.

I still maintain that dropping down and kicking the agent's legs from underneath her was a completely valid response to that.

By the time it registered in my brain that the woman I'd just attacked was wearing a SHIELD issue catsuit, I was already on my back with the gun back in my face as the woman -a stunning redhead- straddled me. By the time my brain registered _that_ , I was just realizing that the woman sitting on my chest was a dead ringer for Scarlett Johansson, which meant that the Black Widow was the unhappy person pointing a gun at me. Then my poor brain simply broke.

Carajo.

"Uh, hi," I stuttered, quite focused on the woman's trigger finger. ( _Please_ don't let her shoot me.)

"Hi," she deadpanned right back, not budging an inch.

Damn, I could pretty much _feel_ the frost rolling off of her body. "So, not that you aren't pretty or anything Red," I continued, eyes wide, "but I'm _really_ not into gun play, so if you could just let me go now, that would be awesome."

The Widow's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What's your name, agent?"

"Schafer. Luciana Schafer," I introduced in my best Bond voice.

I swear I don't have a death wish. Really, I don't. I just get _mouthy_ when I'm nervous and the _Black motherfucking Widow_ was currently sitting on me with a gun leveled between my eyes. My poor body couldn't decide if it was terrified or turned on.

Before I joined SHIELD, I never suffered from these episodes of sexual confusion, I swear to God.

If it was possible, the Black Widow looked even more annoyed. " _You're_ the 'top-notch' agent Coulson is sending with me to pick up Bruce Banner?" she hissed.

Aw, Coulson, I didn't know you cared. Stop it, you're making me blush.

"I'm gonna go with… yes?" I offered, careful to remain perfectly still beneath the Widow's weight despite my current attitude. No need to tempt her _too_ much, after all. "I'm basically a fun-sized extraction point, and if we're going after Banner, you _might_ want me around for more than my good looks."

The Widow didn't blink, but she didn't say anything derogatory in retaliation either. Instead, she scanned me carefully and deliberately with her cold green eyes, causing me to blush under the weight of her stare. (At least two times heavier than her physical body, by the way.) I knew I was pretty. I wasn't gorgeous, but I was pretty. I had thick black hair and symmetrical features and nice, caramel-colored skin, courtesy of my hispanic roots. My other features weren't that special, but they weren't ugly either. Still, the Black Widow _was_ gorgeous, and her proximity was honestly starting to make me a little flustered. Not that I'd ever show her that weakness, of course. I wasn't stupid.

Finally, after a very long pause, the Black Widow replaced the safety on her gun and stood in one fluid motion, freeing me. I quickly scrambled to my feet. She didn't offer to help me up, and I refrained from commenting on it.

See? I _do_ have a filter.

"So where are we going, Red?" I asked her cheerfully, making a show of dusting myself off.

"Agent Romanoff," she corrected coldly, arms loosely crossed over her chest.

Yikes. Tough crowd. "Romanoff," I agreed, before brightening. "Hey, I know you! You're Barton's partner!" He'd told me about her on the jet to the Tesseract on the day I'd met him- not that I didn't already know all that there was to know about the Black Widow. Still, Barton gave me the excuse to fangirl a little, even if he _was_ currently in deep shit.

Oh. Right. Barton was currently in deep shit.

Romanoff flinched slightly at the name, and I instantly felt terrible. The Black Widow never flinched. "Just get on the damn plane, agent," she spat at me before turning on heel and heading for said quinjet.

I chose not to answer and simply to obey.


	4. The Girl Who Fell from Calcutta

**A/N: It's been a while, but here's an update. Thank you so, so much for everyone who reviewed!**

* * *

The Blink Effect: Chapter Four  
The Girl Who Fell from Calcutta

* * *

I managed to avoid death-by-Black-Widow by pleasantly surprising the woman with my actual professional skill. (Proof that all that time spent in training wasn't _completely_ wasted.) I managed to contain myself from acting a fool while we discussed the mission parameters, and had actual valid input on the plan of action. Considering that Agent Romanoff's scowl eased slightly in intensity once I displayed competency, I figured that she wasn't too likely to hurt me until after our mission was complete.

Of course, as soon as we'd finished talking business, my mouth had free reign.

Contrary to popular belief, I do actually enjoy silence. It's one of my favorite things, truthfully. I could sit in silence for hours and quite enjoy it if I felt so inclined, and I was in no way opposed to silence between two people. However, what I could _not_ stand was _awkward_ silence: the kind that eats away at you like acid and makes you squirm in your seat like a third grader with ADHD. Silence in a conversation with someone I didn't know drove me wild. I hated it. There's just something about sitting in silence with someone you know really well -knowing that you can be comfortable with them and that you're on the same level- that just makes empty silence seem like a cheap parody of something that could have been beautiful, once. So naturally, when Agent Romanoff decided not to talk to me for the rest of the flight -I'd offered to teleport us closer to Calcutta, but she declined my offer, citing a need for the plane on the return trip as she didn't want to push Banner through a rip in spacetime if she could possibly avoid it, which I agreed with- I sort of just… blurted the first thing that crossed my mind.

When I'm not playing Agent, I actually have a terrible brain-to-mouth filter. Darcy and I got along well because of that.

"You're less… pointy, than I thought you'd be," I informed the redhead somewhat thoughtfully.

The woman glanced at me incredulously. We were alone in the back of the quinjet, the only other person aboard being the pilot all the way up in the cockpit. (Our team for the mission would meet us at our destination.) Still, it seemed that Romanoff could hardly believe my gall in addressing her in such a way.

"Pointy?" she drawled, making her displeasure with the comment very clear indeed. I got the feeling that she was only tolerating me because she was too tired to make me shut up.

I nodded. "Yeah," I told her, cocking my head to the side and openly inspecting her. "I haven't been an agent for very long, but even I've heard of the Black Widow. You're different, though, from what they say."

Immediately, the woman tensed up and glared at me. "And how would you know that?" she asked coldly.

It was more than a little terrifying.

"It's difficult to put into words," came my admittance. I was totally undeterred from speaking. Even if the woman hit me for this, it was preferable to her broody silence. "Language is funny that way. We have words for almost everything except the things that are important," I mused before allowing a bit of earnestness to shine through my eyes. "I read an article once though, and the reporter, Joseph Land, said that 'People with edges take up space; that they give us a reason to talk, to wonder, to think. People with edges can alter their surroundings, as opposed to having their surroundings alter them,' and you remind me of that. I heard you compared to a knife once, but you feel less like something with a single sharp edge and more instead like a bunch of different shapes that just _is_ , to me. And I'm very good at reading people."

For a moment after that, Romanoff just stared at me, and I stared right back. I liked this silence better, knowing that the woman was processing my words (or even just trying to decipher what in the hell I was actually talking about, considering I wasn't exactly coherent a lot of the time), even if I could detect no signs of contemplation on her perfectly neutral features.

"And you," she finally replied, "are less of an airhead and more someone who knows the value of being underestimated."

Well, can't argue with that. It was completely true.

"People are less inclined to bother me when they're convinced I'm a step short of insane," I admitted freely. I wasn't stupid enough to lie to the Black Widow. "And I find that I rarely care to know people who behave differently towards someone they aren't trying to impress. If they don't think you can be reasoned with, it's easier to do as you please."

"And _say_ as you please," she scoffed, lips curling up infinitesimally at the corners.

That was as good as getting her to laugh out loud. Seeing the motion, I felt oddly proud. Sure, I was weird, but I'd drawn this woman's attention off of her current situation and at least somewhat amused her. Considering that this was a woman who prided herself on her own emotional control, I immediately gave Romanoff a warm smile and myself about thirty-six mental pats on the back for completing Mission: Impossible.

Take that, Tom Cruise. Who's the top agent _now_?

Me. That would undoubtedly be me.

"Exactly. I knew there was a reason I liked you," I said with a lazy wink. "Besides the aesthetic appeal, of course."

My new companion rolled her eyes at me. "Of course."

But I knew she thought I was funny, and I knew that she knew that I knew she thought I was funny.

The silence after that wasn't awkward anymore.

I enjoyed it so much, in fact, that from the moment our quinjet landed outside of Calcutta, I did my best to maintain it by avoiding speaking outside of a professional capacity -which turned out to be only once or twice anyways, as Romanoff strutted right up to the team assigned to us for the mission and began issuing orders like she was Her Majesty the Royal Empress of the Universe or something. It was actually kind of hot, in a please-don't-hurt-me kind of way. Since we'd already agreed on a plan of action in the quinjet, I only inserted myself into the conversation with the new team -a heavily-built collection of very solemn ex-military men- when I decided that it would put needless strain on Romanoff's temper for them to make her repeat herself.

"Look," I snapped at them, startling a couple as if they had expected me to remain completely silent the entire time. (I mean sure, I was totally Romanoff's sidekick in this situation and she really didn't need the help, but that didn't mean I was just a cardboard cutout propped up behind her.) "Agent Romanoff told you to remain at a good distance from the site and only intervene if there's an incident; though I personally wouldn't recommend trying to shoot the Hulk. I don't care if you approve of the plan or not, and I very seriously doubt that Agent Romanoff does either," came my reprimand. Agent Remeshkumar didn't like that he and his men were essentially benched for the mission. I didn't know why he was surprised. It's not like the Black Widow would fail to bring in a mark, even if that mark _was_ Bruce Banner. "You're to maintain a perimeter to keep the civilians away from the area. In the case of an appearance by the Hulk, I'll take care of the problem, and you're not to interfere. Follow orders and do your job, and let Agent Romanoff and I do ours."

Things moved a little quicker after that. The men did as asked, sent little Shreya -an orphan rescued earlier that month from a busted sex-trafficking ring by the local SHIELD agents- out to collect the mark, and the Black Widow and I settled in to wait inside the house on the outskirts of the city that had been selected for the mission.

"I don't need your help, Agent," Romanoff told me stiffly.

Almost against my will, I smirked a little. "I know," I assured her. "I was just bored. But just so you know; if things go south, I still have your back."

Romanoff didn't reply. She just stared at me until our comms went off, Rameshkumar's voice told us that Shreya and Banner were sighted on approach, thirty seconds out.

Suddenly, Shreya was in and out -running into the house and straight through the window- and Bruce Banner was standing in front of us in the dark room, muttering about getting paid up front.

I would have laughed if the situation weren't so serious.

"You know, for a man who's supposed to be avoiding stress, you picked a hell of a place to settle," Romanoff commented, stepping out of the shadows and approaching our mark. I followed just behind her and leaned casually up against a table, watching Banner evenly. He was an unassuming guy, but I was still a little nervous. I knew very well why I'd been sent with the Widow on this mission. With my powers, I -and anyone with me, by extension- was one of the few people on the planet with a good chance of surviving an encounter with the Hulk. That didn't mean I was infallible, however, but it did ease my mind to know that this would work. I'd seen it before, after all.

Banner took a step back. "Avoiding stress isn't the secret," he said, watching us carefully. I didn't blame him. We were sketchy as hell.

Romanoff's features were the picture of polite interest. "Then what is it?" She smirked. "Yoga?"

"You two brought me to the edge of the city," came the reply, completely ignoring the question. "Smart." Banner was smiling in the fake sort of way that made me want to smack him as he moved towards the window to peer out into the night. "I uh… assume the whole place is surrounded?"

I snorted a bit at that. "Of course it is," I said reasonably. "Not that it would make a difference if we pissed you off, of course, but it makes our boss feel better."

Romanoff shot me a glare for mouthing off -totally hypocritical of her, by the way- but Banner at least seemed to appreciate the blunt honesty and quirked his lips at me wryly. "And your actress buddy?" he asked. "Is she a spy too? They start that young?"

"I did," the redhead answered simply.

The casualness of the two words nearly made me cringe. What had happened to Romanoff was beyond the pale. It spoke to just how horrific her life had been that she could even say it so easily. I forced myself not to react though. Shreya's situation was completely different to Romanoff's and each of us in the room knew it. Banner was stalling.

This was evident in the way he didn't even pause in his interrogation. "Who are you?"

"Natasha Romanoff." Damn, girl didn't even blink.

"Luciana Schafer," I added for good measure, giving the man my most stunning smile.

Banner smiled back grimly. "Are you here to kill me, Miss Romanoff? Miss Schafer? Because that's not gonna work out for everyone."

Quick to reassure him, Romanoff frowned at the question. "No, no, no. Of course not," she said glibly, taking a step closer to the man as I watched. "We're here on behalf of SHIELD."

This, at least, gave Banner pause. He blinked. "SHIELD." Romanoff just blinked back, studying him. It was actually freaking me out a little how innocent she looked right now, all smooth skin and doe-eyes. Our mark, however, appeared rightly unconcerned and pinned her with an intense look. "How'd they find me?"

"We never lost you, Doctor," she informed him, as if it were obvious. "We've kept our distance- even kept some other interested parties off your scent."

"You're a hot commodity, dude," I added, inspecting my nails disinterestedly (though I was far from disinterested). "As I'm sure you're well aware, not all of said parties are strictly good. You can understand why SHIELD would be interested in keeping you away from them, and Nick Fury seems to trust you enough to make sure you're left alone by even us."

Romanoff nodded. "But now we need you to come in," she said seriously.

A muscle in Banner's jaw jumped as it clenched, and I mentally sighed as the man's eyes grew defiant. I _really_ hated tiptoeing around this man, but it was necessary until he agreed to work with us, as frustrating as it may be. "And if I say no?"

In return, Romanoff's smile grew just as fake as Banner's had been earlier. "I'll persuade you."

Yeah. _So_ glad I wasn't on the receiving end of that look. It was actually impressive that the person I most feared in the room with the Hulk was the Black Widow.

Banner stepped right up close to us, alternating his solemn gaze between us. To make it easier for him (because I'm just a nice person like that), I pushed off from the table and took a step forward to I was shoulder-to-shoulder with Romanoff. I felt better about my chances of saving her life if it came to it, this way.

"And what if the… other guy, says no?" he asked, neither myself or my partner missing the implied threat in the words.

And I didn't appreciate it. "Let's just say that you're not the only 'special' one in this room, Banner, and I can run _real_ fast," I cooed, smiling dangerously. I could get away from the Hulk. Probably. "Besides. You don't want an incident this close to where someone could get hurt again, do you Doctor?"

Banner scowled and backed away a bit. "Well I don't every time get what I want," he said darkly, leaning up against a stool and staring off to the side.

I almost winced again. No, he didn't, did he? What was with all the allusions to the tragic backstories today? It was making me feel weepy when I shouldn't be.

I was close enough to Romanoff to see the tiny crease that appeared between her eyebrows then, and I knew she didn't like how this mission was going so far. "Doctor, we're facing a potential global catastrophe," she reported, her tone going from smooth and pleasant to something decidedly more urgent.

Banner laughed bitterly. "Well those I actively try to avoid."

Romanoff ignored him. Instead, she pulled up an image of a very familiar object on her phone. "This," she said, pacing away and placing the phone down on the table and walking right back to my side, "is the Tesseract. It has the potential energy to wipe out the planet."

I smiled lightly as Banner immediately stood and went to investigate the picture, adjusting his glasses and clearly intrigued in spite of himself. "It's powerful," I sighed rather wistfully. My voice then hardened. "And that, unfortunately, means dangerous."

We watched in silence as Banner picked up the phone and studied the image. "What does Fury want _me_ to do- swallow it?" he finally asked.

He couldn't fool me, though. I knew he was intrigued. You could take the man out of the lab, but never the nerd out of the man. "He wants you to find it," I said simply. "It was stolen by… a _very_ bad man. Fortunately, it's got a bit of a signature."

Romanoff moved to sit across from where Banner was standing at the table and looked up at him imploringly. "It emits a gamma signature that's too weak for us to trace. There's no one that knows gamma radiation like you do. If there was," Her mouth twisted ironically. "that's where I'd be."

Banner quirked an eyebrow. "So Fury isn't after the monster."

"Not that he's told me," she replied, sitting back in her chair.

"And he tells you everything?"

"You really think he'd risk it? I shot back. "Fury needs _you_ for this."

"He needs me in a cage?"

I rolled my eyes. Good god, this was painful.

Romanoff handled the man's stubbornness with more grace, pitching her voice to its most soothing and saying, "No one's gonna put you in a-"

Bam. Banner brought his palms forcefully down on the table. "Stop _lying_ to me!" he shouted.

Instantly, Romanoff reacted, yanking her gun from God-knows-where and pointing it directly at Banner's head.

Well, it _would_ have been directly at Banner's head if I hadn't opened a portal directly beneath our feet and dropped us off a good fifteen feet away on the opposite side of the room, causing the woman to stumble. To be fair, Romanoff hadn't ever experienced -only witnessed- my unique brand of locomotion before, and she corrected her aim almost instantly. I was more concerned with the fear I could see in her eyes. I understood it, of course. There was no defense she could muster against the Hulk. The woman was relying entirely on me for her survival, and I got the feeling she really didn't even like me all that much.

I'd shocked Banner though, too. For a moment, all any of us did was stare at each other. Rameshkumar was in our ears, asking if we needed backup, but neither I nor Romanoff acknowledged him. Banner recovered first though and straightened up with a small smile. "I'm sorry. That was mean. I just wanted to see what you'd do." Romanoff hadn't moved. She was still holding her gun steady, her eyes still afraid. "Neat trick though, Schafer. I can see why they sent you."

Slowly, I reached out and touched my fingertips to Romanoff's wrist. I didn't dare put even an ounce of pressure on her skin, but my silent request for her to lower the gun was very clear. "Let's just… all settle down," I suggested softly. "No shouting, and no guns. Wouldn't want things to get messy now, would we? No sense in ruining a perfectly good house by playing rough." My eyes were fixed firmly on Banner, who nodded in acquiescence.

Slowly, Romanoff lowered the gun at my side, murmuring an order for the perimeter team to stand down. She was very close to me, I realized suddenly. Closer than she'd been when I'd first brought us through the portal. I could feel the nervous heat of her body against my skin now, and I hadn't even noticed her move. It was disconcerting to know that the woman had increased our proximity because she thought I could protect her in this situation. She barely knew me, but she trusted me enough for this, at least. I'd worked with other agents who'd done the same on missions, of course, but Romanoff was a completely different level of badass. I frankly felt a little bad for feeling flattered by this trust -because this situation was less than ideal- but I did anyways.

I was _definitely_ going to keep that little tidbit to myself though. Forever.

Once there was a mutual agreement not to fuck with each other in place, things went smoother. A combination of an appeal to his conscience and curiosity finally swayed Banner to our way of seeing things, and he agreed to come with us back to SHIELD to help track down the Tesseract. The backup team gave us a lift to where we'd left the pilot and the quinjet, and Romanoff dismissed them summarily as we all three piled into the aircraft without further incident.

After twenty minutes of flying, however, I decided that I'd been professional for quite long enough and fished my ipod out of one of the many pockets in my cargo pants. Being a secret agent, I carried a lot of neat toys. (Though the Quartermaster didn't think it was funny when I called him Q the day I signed out my equipment.) My phone was beyond futuristic, and was tricked out to the level that it performed better than most civilian computers, could scan and decode keypad locks, detect incoming ballistics, connect to the SHIELD information databanks for my clearance level (7, because despite my newness my very nature afforded me privileges) from almost any corner of the earth, and scan and process data on its own. I also carried a small screen that appeared to be a simple strip of flexible plastic when deactivated, but could be strapped to my wrist and used as a global GPS for the planet that included most coordinates for SHIELD vehicles in the air, on land, or in the sea with coordinates in real time. This piece was unique to myself, because of my powers. I relied heavily on visualization to place my portals, but I didn't necessarily have to have been to a location to visualize it. (Having been there before just made it about a hundred times easier to go there.) Most times, a set of coordinates input into my wrist navigator would present me an image of the desired area that I could use to squeak by and create a wormhole to. This was especially important for moving vehicles, as I was given their precise speed and trajectory alongside the image. (I did _not_ want to make a mistake and end up in the turbines of a cargo ship or something equally as horrible.) I carried two SHIELD issued handguns, a tiny set of flash grenades and tear gas canisters, and two nightsticks that delivered an electric jolt with the push of a button. Hell, I had about sixteen knives of various sizes and make stashed away in my pockets, and even two in hidden slots in the the heels of my combat boots. All in all, I was a very well-armed young lady.

SHIELD had given me some pretty creepy habits.

The ipod, though, was mine. I didn't have to spend the money I was earning on a lot of things, now. SHIELD gave me board, and I could eat whenever and whatever I wanted in the mess hall. I didn't even have a very extensive wardrobe, considering that I was dressed for work about ninety percent of the time. (The dress code, oddly enough, was one of the few rules that I absolutely and strictly adhered to.) So I indulged myself a bit with music, collecting hours and hours of material on the object I was currently plugging into the internal speakers after having grown bored with lounging about in the back of the quinjet with nothing to do.

"Do you mind?" I asked my companions facetiously, a series of little pops sounding over the speakers as I rapidly scrolled through my playlists.

And just like that, Romanoff was glaring at me again, though I decided that it was with slightly less venom than before.

Slightly.

Banner just shrugged, and I took that as permission, clicking on my 60s-80s pop collection and grinning when the Rick Springfield's 'Jessie's Girl' started playing softly in the background. Unceremoniously, I then lay down across the floor between the benches that lined each side of the quinjet -upon one of which I had previously been seated next to Romanoff- and lounged quite comfortably on my back, humming and occasionally singing along with the chorus as the songs cycled along. This lasted for quite some time -through Aretha Franklin and Queen and the Jackson 5 and the Proclaimers and the Runaways- and even though both Banner and Romanoff were quiet, I knew they were listening to and enjoying the music. Their bodies had relaxed marginally, even if they never completely lost their tension.

It wasn't until The Temptations were singing 'My Girl' that Banner interrupted me. "According to you, the world's in danger, Schafer," he said softly. When I opened my eyes, I saw that he was gazing at me with genuine curiosity. "Why are you laying on the floor singing?"

In my peripheral vision, I noted the carefully neutral expression on the Black Widow's face and wondered if she was upset with my attitude, considering the personal stake she had in this battle already.

I thought about my response for a minute, gauging how honest an answer the man wanted. "Well," I started slowly. "Terrible things happen every day. To good people, more often than not." I sat up and went cross-legged, leaning up against the bench a few inches away from Romanoff's legs so I could face Banner. She watched me impassively, while Banner looked more interested in what I had to say. "I know better than anyone what it feels like to have everything you've ever known and loved ripped out from under you in what seems like an instant, and to be left with absolutely nothing. But the trick is remembering that you never really _do_ have nothing. Because otherwise you're just miserable for what little life you have left, and you hate yourself, and you hate the world for making you that way, and that's no way to live. That's just letting the rest of the world win. So I figure that if you find something -no matter how small or stupid- to be happy about every day, you'll always have that, even if everything else is taken away from you and you're completely remade into someone you don't even recognize," I related with a shrug. "If I die tomorrow, I don't want to have already been in mourning today."

"That's very profound for someone so young," Banner commented, though I could see his mind mulling the conversation over carefully.

I just smiled sadly at him. "How old I am has nothing to do with how I look, Dr. Banner. People don't carry years on the outside."

"Well _that_ you're wrong about," he teased, gesturing to his own features.

I laughed, tickled by the man's awkward, depressing sort of humor. "I'm sure you'll age very gracefully, Doctor," I assured him. "All that yoga's gotta be good for _something_ , yeah?"

"Yeah."

After that, we went back to listening to the music. I smiled serenely, closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the bench and resumed my gentle humming. I could feel Romanoff's eyes on me then, practically drilling holes into the side of my head, but I didn't acknowledge her. If she had something to say, she'd say it.

She didn't say anything.


End file.
